Introduction
by Spiritual Stone
Summary: "Does something need fixing?" Raphael's expression didn't change, and that made Donnie nervous. Raph was a pretty good handyman, a fact that he didn't give himself enough credit for. So, more often than not, the only time Raph needed Don's help, it involved anything borderline fatally destructive. "Should I bring out the hazmat suits?"


**I do admit that this is a rather tame fic, more of a drabble than anything else, but still, I figured Raph gets enough deep and meaningful angsty fics he deserves a nice melow one as well.**

**And I love Mrs M. She so nice. X3**

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_**Introduction**_

There was a knock at his door, and Donatello was surprised to find Raphael standing there looking mildly unsure. Usually this brother called ahead by shouting his name from across their home, telling him what he needed and why and when he wanted to go out to get it as he approached, finishing as soon as he came by his lab, grinning, waiting for a reply. The residential engineer, considering the rather silent approach the hot-headed brother had taken, was understandably curious.

"Does something need fixing?"

Raphael's expression didn't change, and that made Donnie nervous. Raph was a pretty good handyman, a fact that he didn't give himself enough credit for. So, more often than not, the only time Raph needed Don's help, it involved things like bombs, chemicals, anything borderline fatally destructive. And the red-banded turtle was too _quiet_. Should he be bringing out the hazmat suits? "…Raph?"

"Radio."

"Radio…?" Donnie hadn't even been aware that they _owned_ one. At least, not one that was supposedly so advanced that it needed _his_ attention.

"Yeah, it's… it's real old. Looks more like one a' those table-top clocks, ya know? Huge."

The bo-wielding ninja was even more confused, now. "We had one of those? Since when?"

"No, it's… for a friend."

Donatello really didn't like the way Raphael was systematically turning him into a shell-full of foreboding and nerves. They didn't have many friends, and the only person they'd all know that would own that kind of radio would be April, but then why in all shell would Raph seem so _nervous_?

"What friend? Good friend? Or a planting-a-bomb-in-a-radio kind of friend?"

"Nothin' like that," Raph rubbed his face, and then drew his palm to the back of his neck, sighing raggedly. "I… there's this lady I like to visit."

"Um…"

"She's old and blind and she helped me out when some humans topside were huntin' me down after that Triceraton invasion, okay?" Raph snapped, stopping Donatello's imagination from going to dark unfathomable depths, "I like to help out sometimes, give her company. She was dealing with some heavy stuff and I knocked the thing over with my shell. It ain't _broke, _but some channels are shot, the static's bad, and the casing's dented. The casing I can do, ya know, but the tech stuff… It was her husband's, Don. She listened to _Kennedy_ on that thing, and she got it from her Ma as a wedding gift and I… need your help fixin' it."

Oh, wow, Donatello thought, he's got guilt on him like ugly on the Garbageman. He must really like her.

"Ya got time?" Raph continued obliviously, "I told her I'd be back within a week, in case ya got some project ya gotta finish or whatever but-"

"Bro, I can go now if she's okay with it."

"…_Now_?"

"Yes, now," Donatello assured with a smile, turning off the screen of his computer and closing his notebook to prove his point, "You can call ahead or something, while I get my tools?"

His words had immediate effect. Raph's tense muscles loosened, making him look less like a turtle being marched to its own execution. The relief in the crooked smile and soft laugh was immense.

"Thanks Donnie. I'll owe ya."

The purple-banded turtle shrugged and smiled in response as Raphael took out his cell-shell and called ahead. Shouldering his duffle-bag Donnie jogged towards Leo's room, popping his head round the open door to find him carving what looked like an owl from a small piece of wood. "Hey, Leo, Raph and I are going to go out for a bit. Tell Master Splinter for us when he gets back from his walk? It shouldn't take us too long."

"Junk run?"

"Yeah, pretty much," Donatello allowed, deciding it was probably too long a story for this moment. Besides, he didn't want to interrupt Leo discovering/exploring his new hobby.

"Have fun," he waved absentmindedly as he examined his little owl, chipping away at it gently.

Donatello ducked out, grinning to see Raph giving Michelangelo an epic noogie, making him squeal like a girl. It was probably for a teasing comment about nerds and junk yards or even a surprisingly accurate jab about breaking something. The red-banded turtle noticed that his brother was ready to go, so he let Mikey free with a rough but well-meaning shove and led the way topside.

The back door to Mrs Morrison's home was a ninja turtle's dream. Facing away from the street, opening practically into a dead-ended alley, surrounded by potted plants tall enough to shade them from curious eyes, and the overhead light was broken.

"I doubt there's a door more perfect for us in this _city,_" Don murmured as Raph knocked, making the turtle chuckle.

"Who's there?" the woman's voice drifted through the door, old but firm, kind and curious.

"It's me, Mrs M. Raphael. I brought my brother like I said I would."

"Goodness," she replied, opening the door, "That was very quick of you."

"Only the best for ya, Mrs M," Raph grinned, taking Don's hand as he flinched. The urge to hide had been strong. Despite knowing that she was blind, it was still really unnerving to have human eyes open and facing his general direction. "This is Don. Donatello."

"Hi," the technician said, his eyes widening in alarm as Raphael dragged him into a handshake with the human.

"Hello, Donatello." The smile was warm, kind, unseeing. How could she not tell that they only hand three fingers? Then again, his palm practically wrapped her whole hand, fingers and all. Maybe she just couldn't tell between individual digits? "My, my, you both have such rough hands. You must take better care of your skin, dears," she admonished teasingly, "Or _my _hands will look like a babe's compared to yours by the end of the year."

"And here I thought ya said rough hands're hard working hands," Raphael answered easily back, making the old woman chuckle.

"I'm beginning to suspect that you work too hard, dear. Thank you for coming at such short notice, Donatello."

"Ah, Don's fine, Mrs Morrison."

"Come in, come in," she said, stepping aside and letting them through, "It's nice to finally meet one of your brothers, Raphael. Perhaps I should lose a few books next time to see if I can meet another."

"Leo and Mikey's tastes in books are pretty bad, Mrs M," Raphael drawled, and Don couldn't help but snicker in agreement. "You're better off with me just looking for the ones you're missing."

"So where's this famous radio Raph's been talking about?" Don enquired, peering round the small apartment. It was minimalist but cosy, and had the look of being refurbished pretty recently. There were a few knick-knacks here and there that told of a long life full of memories, and in the corner of the dining area was a pile of folded cardboard boxes.

"We can deal with that later," Mrs Morrison waved off, walking purposefully towards the kitchen, "But first I'd like a nice cup of tea, and we'll finish off that batch of cookies I made yesterday. What would you like, Donatello? I have chai, green tea, or English breakfast. Oh and camomile, if you're interested."

"Um, well… then, I'll have whatever Raph's having, thank you," Don replied, sitting next to his brother as he scraped a chair across the abused floor. He looked really comfortable here, like he was at April's or Casey's. Don gave him a look that plainly said: Shouldn't we be helping? Raph shook his head in reply, and gave a rueful grimace: I've tried.

Ah. Well, then.

"So Chai for two?"

"That'd be great, thanks. Where'd Lucy go?"

"Oh, I wouldn't know," Mrs Morison hummed in response, "She comes and goes as she pleases, but her food bowl's full, so she should be back anytime now."

"Lucy?"

"Relax, Don, it's just the cat."

"Oh." Sighing, he relaxed against the chair. "Okay."

"Here you are," she placed two tea-cups in the centre of the table and they had to reach to get at them. She sat down with her own cup of English breakfast and a shallow bowl of what looked like Death-by-Chocolate cookies with walnut and hazelnut chips. "Help yourselves."

"This here is the reason why I never bring you guys over," Raph grinned as he swiped two. "More for me."

Don took a bite and he understood. By _shell,_ he understood all too well_._ The cookie was crisp and soft and the chips crunched like magic in his mouth. He swallowed the awe-inspiring goods, paused, and turned on his brother gravely. "We are not bringing Mikey here. _Ever_. Even if we, by some terrible mistake bring our brother here, you can't feed him this, Mrs Morrison, he would eat you out of your home."

Raphael laughed and bumped fists with his bro.

They talked for a while, mostly about Donatello; it seemed as if Raph had exhausted every other topic he could think of, so the genius found himself in the figurative spotlight for almost an hour. He talked about his interests in engineering, and his minor-scale inventions (it was ludicrous to even consider talking about, say, the Battleshell), and Mrs Morrison listened well, and happily, and talked about her husband in turn, who had been a mechanic specifically for planes.

Donatello really liked this old plump woman with her gentle mannerisms and considering smile. A bit of a surprise, considering the usual company Raphael kept (cough_Casey_cough), but Raphael, like all of them, had pieces of themselves that they'd rather keep private. It was a pleasant way to spend the evening, and when the tea was finished and the cookies wiped out of existence, they set themselves onto the radio.

It was a beautiful classical piece of work, and something even Don found a little apprehensive about touching. He was used to advanced technologies, not ancient objects that teetered on obsolete, with parts and mechanisms smaller and more delicate than a microchip. He eased it open with his trusty screwdriver, and he was met with _dust_. So much _dust_. It was like the Dust Bunny met the Easter Bunny and they'd mated to the point of laying dust eggs that hatched dust spiders that threaded all the dust into cobwebs thick enough to make slices out of.

Donatello was mildly assured that Mikey would've been proud of his imagery.

"Shell," Raph murmured, "That's nuts."

"What is it?" Mrs Morrison fretted, making Raph wince.

"Just dust, Mrs Morrison," Don assured, reaching into his duffel bag to take out his rags, duster and a piece of paper, "We'll need to clean this out before looking at any damage."

They got to it, Raph blowing out the dust with the paper rolled tightly enough to be a dart-gun, while Don swept aside the bigger clumps of dead strata with the duster. He set Raph clearing the dust away into a pan as the mechanic set to work, taking out his leather roll-pouch full of tweezers and tinkering tools.

Nothing seemed overly damaged, but there were a few wires that needed replacing, the old equivalent of a power-cell looked rusted, and the innards were dented where Raph's shell had connected with the radio. The latter two he could clean and fix, but the wires were probably best bought, if Raphael wanted the radio in top condition.

He eyed the wires critically before turning to his brother. "Raph, can you go to the store and get a couple of wires? The copper kind will do fine, I think, though thinner the better… maybe point-5 mills. I can get at this power-cell and some other things while you're out. I should be done within an hour, Mrs Morrison." He added loudly through the door, covering up Raph's noise of distress. It was still early evening, so what he was suggesting was borderline suicide. "There's a place pretty close by that antique shop. Go on, you. Before the end of the month."

He got the code, and grudgingly left for the shop. Raphael told the old woman that he was going out, and he also asked if she wanted him to get her some groceries, anything at all. She laughed, telling him that it was fine and to be careful when crossing the streets.

Don couldn't help but snicker. Careful when crossing the streets? Try careful when leaping between buildings.

There was a tell-tale noise of Raphael crawling up the side of the building, and Don frowned. The walls were thin. If he left like that all the time, surely this human would've noticed…

"Donatello?"

"Yes, Mrs Morrison?"

"How bad is it?"

"Not bad," he assured, taking out the power-cell and chipping away at the rusted corners. This would need replacing too, but he had a smaller generator of his own design that he could easily slot in here. It was a bit of an experimental thing, but now was a good time as any to try it out. "I think it was just old, ma'am. I don't think Raph knocked it down as badly as he thinks he has. It's pretty sturdy."

"Oh, good. He sounded so worried."

"Thank you, by the way," Donnie found himself saying, "It's not often that Raph really opens up to someone. Well, outside of the family, anyway."

Even then, he can be such a dark pond of emotion he liked to ice it over in rage just to hide it all.

"You and I have interesting ideas for the term 'opening up', then, dear," Mrs Morrison sighed, walking over to a chair by the radio, gently setting herself down when she was sure it was facing the turtle. "He hardly talks about himself."

For good reason, Don thought as he tinkered. "Oh?"

"Well he talks about current events, and hockey, and boxing, but himself? Sometimes it's like prying open a treasure-chest with nothing but a twig."

"Yeah, that sounds like Raph," he agreed fondly, happily clicking away at the radio.

"He… he speaks very highly of you. Of all of you."

"He _talked _about us?" Oh, wow, he wanted to add, he really must trust you.

Then he frowned. So why didn't he trust _us_ with you?

"Oh, almost all the time. In passing, at first, but I've found that he can't resist gloating about you all." Her smile was fond and amused and seemed to understand that Donnie was giving her a very confused expression.

"He _gloats_ about us? What… like what?"

She gave a soft chuckle as she explained, "Oh, that you, for instance, are the smartest person he knows and that Einstein would have had a run for his money. Leonardo, is it? The older brother? How he'd make an excellent counsellor and teacher if given the chance, and the younger brother, Michael?"

"Michelangelo. Mikey."

"I hear he's an excellent artist."

"Yeah, he… he is. Annoying, and impossible to live with sometimes, but yeah. Good artist."

An awkward pause ensued. Donnie set his tools down, and she must have heard the silence, his attention solely on her. He'd had a feeling that the lady had wanted to speak with him about Raph since the cookies came out, but now he was really nervous about what _exactly_ they'd be talking about.

Mrs Morrison fidgeted with her grey hair before saying, "Donatello, I hope I'm not being too forward by asking this, but sometimes Raphael worries me. Does he take care of himself?"

The turtle sighed. So, not as bad a topic as he'd thought. "Yeah, he does. Sometimes better than the rest of us. I, for one, am extremely guilty of a horrid sleeping pattern."

Not, when he really thought about it, Raphael was all that better, but still.

"He, does he have any, tattoos?"

Donatello actually snorted and choked on his own saliva. He coughed and laughed and rasped and laughed. Oh god. Imagining any of them walking into a parlour to have needles poked into them for art's sake was so wrong and hilarious it made his stomach churn. It sounded like something out of a fever-induced nightmare. "I'm sorry, I, uh, what makes you think that?"

"He… well there was this one time, I'd run out of milk for tea and I'd asked him to go and fetch some for me."

Don winced.

"He said he couldn't go, because, well, he didn't look right. That he wouldn't be let in. I thought he was joking, or exaggerating, but I let the matter go since he sounded so… worried. He kept saying he was too green, which makes no sense…"

Don winced spectacularly and sucked on his teeth. Oh, Raph. What are you trying to-? Of course. Oh, of course. _Damn it_. No wonder his brother hadn't trusted the others with this kind unsuspecting lady.

She could still turn on them. She could still turn on _him_, on Raph, and that was a potential disaster he wouldn't have wanted to share with his family.

He must really, really care about her to have brought him over, Don thought.

"He… he doesn't have any tattoos. At least, not in the way you're thinking. He's… how did you two meet?"

She was tactful enough to let the abrupt subject-change slide. "Oh, I heard a terrible noise outside, some hooligans chasing an alien. I'd thought it was ridiculous at the time, but the news went on and on about invasions and dinosaurs in spacesuits I later had to take my neighbours' word for it. That day I was waiting for a boy to help with my packing, and it turned out to be Raphael. Another boy came in the next day to apologise for not arriving on time, so that was a very happy coincidence on my part."

Happy coincidence on Raphael's part too, clearly.

"I'm starting to suspect that he was the one being chased, actually."

_That_ made Don want to grab his stuff and get the shell out of there. But judging by the expression on her face she needed to say more, so he steadied his rising panic and prompted, "…And?"

"And that he may not come back if I started sharing my suspicions."

Don considered that, and slowly nodded. Of course, he realised she couldn't see that, so clarified, "Well, you probably have that right."

"Oh." She wrung her hands together, and jumped when there was a soft mew from the doorway. A rugged-looking white cat padded over to them, glaring suspiciously at Donatello before winding her body round Mrs Morrison's legs, purring. Mrs Morrison visibly unwound, stroking the cat. "Lucy,"

"She's not fond of strangers, is she," Donatello remarked, the cat still glaring at him.

"It's funny, you know," the woman picked the cat into her arms and laid the purring beast across her lap. "She hardly takes to anyone but she latched onto Raphael as soon as he sat down for tea."

"Huh."

"He's a good boy."

Donatello snorted, earning a Look from the woman. "I'm sorry," he chuckled, "It's just… if anybody but our Father called him a boy they'd get their sh… backsides handed to them. I haven't even thought of him as a _boy_ since… ever. But yes, you're right. He is a really good guy. One of the best."

"What is he hiding, Donatello? I want to ask, but if I were to lose his company… my world is dark enough, son. I don't want to lose what little light I get from people like him."

Oh she was good at the guilt-tripping thing. "I can't… I can't tell you anything he's not willing to share. It would be extremely unfair to him, and I don't think he would let me come back here as a result, and I love your cookies too much to risk that. I _do_ think he's an idiot for making you worry so much, though."

"So the whole eavesdroppers never hear anything good about themselves thing must be true," was Raph's drawl through the window, his head popping into view. "Got your wires, brainiac."

"Eh, you just have terrible timing," Don grinned, expertly catching the packet of metal that his brother threw at him with an excessive amount of force, "The rest of the time we were singing praises about you, hothead."

"How's the radio?"

"Seriously?" Don opened the package of wires, cutting strips into appropriate lengths before replacing the more damaged areas, his tools clicking away. "You did no damage to it. At all. It was just old and dusty and coming apart from the inside. In fact, if you didn't knock it over and had us have a look through, it probably would've fried itself up, and _then _it may not have been salvageable. Well done."

Raphael crawled in through the window, snorting. "Whatever, genius. I hope my bro here didn't bore ya with all the nerdy tech stuff, Mrs M."

She chuckled ruefully as Lucy sprang off the human's lap and clawed her way up Raphael's plastron, making him give a startled but soft laugh. "Oh, Raphael. You and your brothers could never bore me."

"I've only brought on the mellow one," Raph shrugged as Lucy nuzzled his face, "You'll _definitely_ regret meeting Leo. That guy has a stick up his… uh… never mind."

Donatello laughed at how sheepish Raph looked and earned himself a murderous glare. It only made him laugh harder. Raphael showing _restraint_ over insulting Leo? Oh this trip was the best he'd gotten in a _while_. "If she can handle you, I'm sure she can handle the rest of us Raph."

"I really would love to see the rest of you, Raphael."

The red-banded turtle tensed at that. Though it was almost definitely just a reference to her wanting to meet the others, Don wondered how many times she had asked to 'see' Raphael's face, only to have him light-heartedly refuse.

"Is there… something wrong?"

"Nah, just Lucy's distractin' me," he grumbled, taking the feline into his arms and placing her back into Mrs Morrison's lap. "You were saying?"

She took his hand in hers and Raphael froze. Don watched them as she really held his hand, counting the thick three digits, the large smooth-yet-rough palm that, on close inspection could never be thought of as human. On top of that, they had no nails.

"Rough hands," she said, "Of a hard worker."

The red-banded turtle's voice was strained. "You missed the obvious."

"Of a young boy, then?"

"I ain't a _boy_!"

Donatello suppressed his snicker.

"Then what _are_ you?"

She let his hand go, and Raph slumped. "It's a long story."

"Then shall we save it for another day?" she offered, settling back into her chair, "And you should bring all your brothers next time, perhaps for dinner. Michelangelo's the cook, isn't he? I could use another pair of hands for the oven."

"Are ya… are ya _sure_?"

"I don't see why not. I may be blind, but I'm not addled in the brain, son."

"Radio's officially good as new," Don added before Raphael could flounder himself into deeper embarrassment, "And we'd love to come again, Mrs Morrison. If you could keep the cookies a secret. I _am_ serious about Mikey eating through your pension."

Mrs Morrison's delighted laugh eased the tension from his brother's shoulders. "Goodness, then I'll just have to insist you bring your own desserts."

"_That_ we can do." The genius assured, nudging his brother with his elbow, "And we promise to not to break things with our shells, I mean, short-comings. Yes. Short-comings."

Raphael was glowering at him with silent words of accusation: You did that on purpose!

Don replied with: Oh, come on. We're going to tell her our life-story anyway.

"I look forward to it, dears," she smiled, "Just try not to be seen when you crawl up the wall."

Donatello laughed long and loud at the dumbstruck look on his brother's face.

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**I hope you enjoyed a flustered Raph as much as I did. XD**

**Anyway, if you liked this, please take a look at _The Bourne Complex, _a multi-chapter fic of our favourite turtles that DESPERATELY needs love and attention by you readers. Seriously, I promise it's action packed and awesome and stuff. **

**Thank you for reading, and please leave a review! **


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